


Binding Secrets

by mad_martha



Series: Bonds [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry uncovers Ron's secret, so Ron returns the favour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binding Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift fic for Shocolate, for being such a lovely fandom friend. She asked for: "Ron is gay, Harry is curious, Ron is offended that he is being used in an experiment". I'm not sure that this precisely fits the bill, but it's what sprang to mind and I went with the flow.
> 
> This is where Martha talks through her hat on subjects she knows little about …. This is almost new territory for me, although I did write something vaguely like this when I wrote The X Files fanfic. I don't know a lot about BDSM, which is why I've only gone so far with this and no further. I've rated it on the high side though, just in case – personally I think it's a PG13, but opinions undoubtedly vary.

He looked so incredibly normal, standing there in faded jeans and a checked shirt with rolled up sleeves.  One hand was tucked into a pocket, the other was casually tipping a butterbeer bottle up to his mouth in a gesture that was as familiar to Harry as his own face in the mirror each morning.

He was a complete stranger.  Harry had never really known him; that was the only possible explanation.

"How did you find out then?" Ron asked, when he'd taken a swallow of his drink. 

So calm.  As though this was nothing more than one of their thousands of conversations about Quidditch over the years.  Harry could practically hear the next words out of his mouth: _It's got to be just a rumour about Quincey being dropped from the line-up ...._  Except that this wasn't the same Ron anymore, was it?

Harry had to suppress an incredulous laugh at the question and a tiny, appalled-sounding snort still escaped him.

"You're _advertising_ , Ron!  Why bother doing that if you don't expect people to see it?"

The corner of Ron's mouth twitched.  "I didn't expect _you_ to see it, no.  Not where I advertise, anyway.  How did you see it, Harry?"

Harry ignored that.  That was another can of worms entirely.

"So.  You're a prostitute.  You know, I always thought there was something a bit funny about all your explanations for where the money was coming from, but I could never quite put my finger on it - and I was just happy that you were - "

"You were happy that I was working three different part-time jobs in three different hotels, or that I was working seven nights a week as a bartender and croupier in a casino, but the idea that I might be making better money doing something that takes up three or four hours a night and a lot less stress pisses you off?" Ron interrupted.

 _"You're a fucking prostitute!"_ Harry yelled.

"Actually, I'm not," Ron said, unmoved.

Harry's mouth opened and closed silently for a moment or two.  Then he managed to gather his wits and he pointed a furiously shaking finger at his friend.

"Don't you dare try to lie about this, Ron!  I _saw_ you - "

"Yeah.  And you completely misunderstood what you saw."  Ron drained the butterbeer and put the bottle down on the window ledge next to him.  He folded his arms.  "I'm not a _fucking prostitute_ \- I'm not a prostitute in my book at all, actually, but I'll admit most people not in the know would disagree with me.  But I'm definitely not a _fucking_ prostitute."

"What?" Harry demanded, confused and angry.

"What did you see?" Ron asked him calmly.

When the hell did Ron become such an emotional boulder?  Harry had reason to know that his friend had a _hell_ of a temper.  At school, a conversation that went even vaguely in this direction would have had Ron yelling and punching the wall.  But he just stood there, hands in pockets, and studied Harry with nothing more than a hint of curiosity and amusement in his blue eyes.  His shirt was rumpled, his jeans and trainers were scruffy, his hair was all over the place - he looked exactly like the person Harry had always assumed him to be since they left school. 

It was quite a contrast with the new image of him that Harry had seared onto the back of his eyeballs.  But something could never quite erase the set of those familiar broad shoulders, the tilt of the head.  It had been those which had given him away that evening.

"What did you see?" Ron repeated and when Harry shook his head speechlessly, he grinned.  "You saw me wearing what, if I do say it myself, is one of my most fetching leather outfits and using a cat on a bloke chained to a wall.  Didn't you?"

That was a pretty bald description that didn't do it anything _like_ justice in Harry's opinion, but all he could manage was a strangled "Using a _what_?"

"A cat," Ron supplied, unfazed.  "Short for _cat-o'-nine-tails_.  It's a kind of multi-stranded whip.  I don't generally use it with that particular client, but he fancied trying something new.  Mostly he just likes being paddled."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get a grip.  _I am not going to ask what "being paddled" means, I am NOT._  

When he opened his eyes again, Ron was still grinning at him like the teenager Harry remembered.

"Come on, Harry!  It can't bother you that much, surely?  Not after everything we saw during the war."

"Ron," he said helplessly, but he honestly didn't know what to say.  "You're a _prostitute_.  If you were that desperate for cash, why didn't you just _say_ something?  I could have lent you money, I would have gladly _given_ you it, it's not like I have a use for a fraction of the gold in my vault.  If it was a matter of better jobs, we could have helped you find something - "

"You know, I'm not much on charity," Ron interrupted curtly.  "Besides, that's only half the story.  Oh, for Christ's sake - sit down, will you?  It's not like the furniture's contaminated."

Harry hesitated, then stiffly followed his friend over to the chairs and sat down opposite him.  He found it nearly impossible to relax, unlike Ron himself who sprawled back across the big squashy cushions just as Harry remembered him sprawling against the pillows of his bed at Hogwarts.

"I'm not a prostitute," he said after a moment or two, when it was clear Harry wasn't going to start the conversation again.  "I'm a professional dominant."

"I don't see - "

"I know you don't," he said sharply.  "Most people don't!  But I think you owe me a chance to point out the difference, okay?  For one thing, it's not about sex.  I don't have sex with my clients, ever."  Harry gave him a sceptical look, and Ron shrugged.  "Believe it or don't; that's up to you.  But I like to think that being your friend means you'd give me the benefit of the doubt!"

Harry flushed.  "Well, you've got to admit that it _looks_ \- "

"You sound like my mother.  When did you start judging people on how things look?"

Harry could feel his blush turning a really spectacular scarlet.  "Okay.  If you say you're not having sex with them, then I believe you.  But Ron - you can't tell me it's not _about_ sex."

"That sounds more like the Harry I know," Ron noted.  "Okay, I won't say it's not about sex.  Sex is definitely involved.  But it's not primarily about sex, okay?  Mostly it's about power and control and ... self-exploration."

"For them or you?" Harry couldn't resist asking dryly.

"Oh, and you _don't_ have control issues?" Ron retorted.

"We're not talking about me!" Harry said, alarmed.

"Actually, I think we are!  I know where every single one of my adverts are, Harry, and if you saw one of them you were already in a place that caters for people looking for the kind of services I offer.  So just what were you doing there, hm?"

"What were _you_ doing there?" Harry demanded, trying to deflect him.  "What made you suddenly think _hm, I reckon I could make a lot of money whipping people_?  Is it just a job or is it something - "  He paused and had to brace himself to finish the question.  "Is it something you need too?"

"Bit cheeky of you to think you can ask me that question without answering it yourself," Ron remarked.

"I'm not the one who dresses up in leather straps and stuff and whips people for a living!"

"Nah, that's definitely not your end of things," Ron agreed.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Harry exploded.

Ron sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a moment.  "I'm a professional, Harry.  And I've known you since we were kids.  How good would I be at my job if I couldn't tell just from looking at you that you're not the dominant type?"

"You can't know me all that well or you wouldn't have flipped your wig at me when I split up with Ginny!" Harry said angrily.

"We were eighteen, you pillock!  I like to think we've both grown up a bit since then - although I'm starting to wonder about _some_ of us!"

"You were a complete bastard about Ginny," Harry muttered.

"She's my sister, it's in the rule book.  I got over it about the same time Hermione got over me."  Ron sighed again.  "Okay, okay.  I'll show you mine, even if you're not going to show me yours.  Yes, originally I got into this because it's something I happen to like.  And it shouldn't really be a surprise to you that I like to be dominant, Harry.  That side of things isn't about sex at all - it's about power and control.  And I had sod all control over my life before I got into this.  I needed a part of my life where I could exercise that control, and since I was already exploring other - areas - it seemed to make sense to check out the BDSM scene as well.  It turned out I was pretty good at it.  I made a few friends - learned the rules - then one evening a friend happened to know someone who was looking for a dominant for an evening.  Kind of an emergency situation - why are you looking like that?"

"Emergency situation?" Harry said, and he couldn't help it.  He sniggered.

Ron raised a brow at him, giving him a cool and unamused look.  "You think that's funny?"

Harry stopped sniggering rather abruptly.

After a moment, Ron continued.  "So I went along and - it worked.  For me and for him.  There was no direct sex involved; he just wanted to be flogged, that was how he got off.  Afterwards he wanted to pay me; I said no, because it was a favour for a friend and anyway, at that point I was still thinking that paying made it prostitution and bad, like all the other small-minded people in the world.  My mate gave me an ear-bending about it, especially because he knew the kind of crap jobs I was doing at that point.  Next thing I knew, the bloke was asking me around again."  Ron stopped and rubbed his chin for a moment.  "That time I was owing two months' rent.  When he offered me a bag of Galleons, I didn't argue much.  And when he recommended me to a couple of mates with a lot of ready cash, I didn't argue about that either.  After two or three sessions I was out of the red and had a bit of spare change to spend.  All for a couple of hours with a whip and some tough talking fantasy."

"And that was it?" Harry said, reluctantly fascinated.

Ron shrugged.  "Mostly.  I stuck it out for a few more weeks with a couple of shitty bar jobs, then I got grief from a couple of customers and the manager one evening and chucked in the towel - literally.  I didn't even need to advertise at first."

"So why do you need to advertise now?" Harry asked.

"I lost a couple of regulars - one of them moved abroad, another started shacking up with a boyfriend who could give him what he needed for free."  Ron smiled.  "Good luck to them.  But I'd got used to a certain level of income by that point, so I decided to put a couple of discreet adverts up in places where they were guaranteed to be seen by the right kind of person."  He gave Harry a rather hooded-eyed look.  "You should be flattered," he added, "since those ads are charmed only to be seen by rich men of a certain persuasion."

Harry wished his chair would swallow him.  "There can't really be charms for that kind of thing," he said rather feebly.

"Actually, there can."

"You don't cater for women as well, then?"

"I've done it once or twice as a favour, but I wouldn't do it for money.  Women get different things out of it than men," he explained matter-of-factly, "and I'm pretty much gay, which makes it ... awkward.  I like to get a bit of satisfaction out of my work, you know, and that's not really happening for me with women."

"Oh."

There was a long pause.  Harry tried to keep his expression calm and his eyes still, but he was deeply uncomfortable under Ron's assessing eyes and found it hard to sit still.

"So - are you going to tell me what you were doing in that club?" Ron asked finally.  "I mean, granted it's one of the more vanilla venues on my circuit, but it's still a leather joint and that place doesn't cater for women of any description.  And there's no way you could have got inside without realising that."

"If you know that much, how come you don't know the rest?  Just by looking at me?" Harry added bitterly.

"Maybe I'd like to hear it from your side," Ron suggested, more gently than Harry had expected.

"I didn't go there to get tied up," Harry muttered.

"No?"  There was a very knowing look in Ron's eyes, but he didn't challenge the statement.  "What did you go there for, then?"

"I used the Find-It Charm in the back of the Floo Directory."

"You have to be pretty specific with that charm."

Harry grasped at a very thin straw.  "Yeah - I think maybe I wasn't specific enough, because - "  He stopped.  Ron was raising a brow at him again.  He groaned and sagged back into the welcoming cushions of his chair.  "Okay, I was looking for gay clubs.  Satisfied?"

"How long have you known you're gay?" Ron asked him mildly.

"I don't _know_ that I'm gay at all."  Harry covered his eyes with one hand, wishing for the hundredth time that he was just an ordinary, average sort of person.  Not an orphan.  Not a hero.  Not rich without any idea of what to do with his money.  Not ... different.  "I - I just - "

"You were hoping to find somewhere to dip a toe in the water and see if you liked it," Ron finished for him, and Harry nodded tiredly.  "I reckon you dropped in on the wrong club for that, mate."

"Yeah.  Maybe."

"Unless you like leather, of course."  In vain, Harry told himself not to blush.  There was a lurking smile in his friend's eyes, but all Ron said was, "So - what did you think?"

"I think that nobody should be allowed to wear chaps without at least a pair of jeans underneath."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"It ...."  Harry sighed.  "I don't know.  It was interesting.  A bit intimidating."

"Intimidating enough that you wanted to leave?"

"No."  Harry looked at him.

Ron shrugged lightly.  "Doesn't prove a thing, mate.  If you were capable of being scared off by a bunch of blokes in assorted leather gear, you'd never have been able to face up to Voldemort."  He seemed to study Harry's face for a moment.  "You know, there are other places if you just want to find out if you're gay or not.  Places that are less in your face, more ... mainstream.  A leather joint really isn't the place to solve a crisis of sexuality unless you're looking for something pretty rough."

"I don't know what the hell I want," Harry said restlessly.  "How did _you_ find out what you wanted?"

"Don't confuse what I do for a living with what I want in the bedroom," Ron warned him.  "The domination is a mental thing.  Yes, I like to be in control, in a position of power, but that doesn't mean I _have_ to tie my partner up and flog him to get off.  It's a lot more … subtle than that.  In fact, that's why I don't have a - "  He stopped.

"What?" Harry asked curiously.

But Ron shook his head.  "Never mind.  Just understand that while I provide a service that involves pain and discomfort, I don't need that level of dominance for myself.  It's the control that's important.  And I found out almost by accident; one of my first partners happened to like that kind of thing himself and it became an issue between us.  I already knew I was gay long before then."

"But how did you know that?"

"It became pretty obvious when I realised I wasn't thinking about Hermione or any other girl when I jerked off," Ron said wryly.

Harry looked at him quizzically.  "Who were you thinking of then?"

"Like I'm going to tell you that!" Ron scoffed.  "I'll tell you when you tell me!"

Harry suddenly became very interested in his fingers.  "I don't think of women either."

"I'd say you've scored the first goal then.  When are you going to go for the Snitch?"

"When I know what kind of Snitch it is and where to find it, I suppose.  And that's the problem.  If I end up looking in too many odd places, sooner or later someone's going to recognise me."  Harry was bitter.  "Pity that when I got rid of Voldemort I couldn't get rid of my scar at the same time."

"Why, are you ashamed of being gay?" Ron asked in a neutral tone.

"No.  Not ashamed."  And that was the truth, much to Harry's own surprise.  "Just not prepared to deal with the publicity it's likely to bring.  Just for once, I'd like something of mine to be private, especially something like this.  The only kind of people likely to be attracted to me under those circumstances are the kind of people I don't want anything to do with."

"I think you're being a bit pessimistic.  I'm pretty sure it'll be simpler than that."

"Not unless you're interested in helping me out." 

It was meant to be a joke.  It wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that it dawned on Harry that this might actually be a solution.  But when he looked at Ron, his heart dropped for his friend's expression was freezing.

"No,"  Ron said curtly. 

"Ron, I just - "

" _No_ , Harry."

Harry blinked at him, shocked and confused.  "Ron ...."

Ron was on his feet and heading for the kitchen before he could even think about what he was planning to say.

"You want another butterbeer?  Or a cup of tea?" he said over his shoulder.

Harry got up and followed him more slowly.  He stood in the kitchen doorway for a minute or two, watching Ron fill and boil a kettle, put leaves in the teapot, find mugs ....

"Am I that horrible a proposition?" he asked finally.

Ron stiffened and turned to look at him.  "What?"

Harry shrugged.  "Well, judging by your reaction that must have been a pretty vomit-worthy idea."

"What are you nattering on about?" Ron demanded roughly. 

"I meant it as a joke," Harry said quietly.  "But - actually it's an idea.  I'd pay you, you know."

"Shut up."  Ron's face was suddenly pale.  "That's not even remotely funny."

"Am I laughing?"

"Pay me?  You'd _pay_ me?  That _is_ a vomit-worthy idea!"

"Forget it, then," Harry said.  He felt surprisingly small in the face of Ron's obvious anger.  "I asked, you said no.  End of story."

"Just like that, eh?"  Ron slapped a Molly Weasley creation of a tea cosy onto the teapot and turned to face Harry fully.  "Do you have any idea what you asked, Harry?"

Harry's mind went blank.  "Er ... that was the point - "

"Exactly!  You think you _might_ fancy blokes and you're clueless about the whole business, and on top of that you're actually quite scared that someone might find out that Harry Potter's a poofter, so you think I'm a handy way out of your problem because I'm a friend and I'm safe."  Ron looked furious.  "Except that I'm _not_ a fucking experiment and I'm no one's easy lay on the way to domestic bliss with someone else.  No one fucking well uses me, dammit!"

"I'm sorry," Harry said helplessly.  "I - I didn't mean it that way.  Dammit, Ron, you know I didn't mean it that way!"

"Didn't you?"  Ron blew out a sharp, impatient breath.  "Well, maybe you didn't but that's one of your worst habits, Harry - you clam up on the ordinary, everyday stuff then dump these fucking _huge_ issues right in people's laps without any warning.  It's always all or nothing with you, and it's so hard to get you to be honest and upfront about stuff!  One minute you're screaming at me for being a prostitute and the next you're asking me for a casual fuck to see if you really like blokes - Jesus."

Harry winced.  It wasn't as though he could deny the charge; his inability to be open and honest had been the largest of the many issues to come between him and Ginny years before.  But it wasn't as though there weren't reasons for it, and Ron knew those reasons as well as Harry himself did.

"How honest do I have to be?" he asked, after a tense pause.  "How far can I go before it turns around and bites me?"

"We're not in the middle of a war anymore," Ron said curtly.  He turned back to the counter to pour the tea.

"Maybe not, but just because the risks are different, doesn't mean they aren't risks at all.  Doesn't mean they can't hurt me twice as badly."

"I'd like you to be honest with _me_ , at least," Ron said over his shoulder.

"This, from the bloke who's been whipping people for a living for God knows how long and never said anything?"

"Only because I knew you'd react the way you did!"

"Oh, is that all?" Harry said sharply.

"That, and I'd really rather my mother didn't find out," Ron admitted coolly.  "But not because I give a shit what she thinks!  I just can't be arsed to deal with the row she'd kick up."

"Yeah, well at least it's only your mother you have to worry about.  You seem to forget that I work with the Minister of Magic these days.  I can just imagine what that tight-arsed, sanctimonious old git would say."

Ron astonished him by chuckling.  "I reckon you'd be surprised by his reaction, mate!"

"Oh?"  Harry wondered if he should ask.  Then he wondered if he really wanted to know.  He _did_ have to work with the Minister, after all.

"Forget that."  Ron turned back and gave Harry his mug of tea.  "I just want you to be honest with me.  How many clubs did you really trawl before you ended up at that leather joint?  The _truth_ , Harry.  Remember, I know these places pretty well."

Harry looked down into the tea for a moment.  "A few," he admitted.  "More than a few.  I tried a few other places first, 'normal' gays bars if you like, but it just wasn't what I was looking for.  Not that I knew what I was looking for then anymore than I know now."

"And how long did you wait before you admitted you had to start looking?" Ron nudged.

The hesitation was longer this time.  In spite of what Ron had just said, Harry still didn't know how much he dared reveal, especially after Ron's angry outburst.

"A long time," he said finally.  "Probably as far back as breaking up with Ginny, I knew.  Guessed.  It ... was never her face in my mind.  She was just a substitute, and she didn't deserve that."

"Then by this time I reckon you know what you're looking for," Ron told him flatly, although far from unkindly.  "Maybe not the specifics, but the general shape of it."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, and he took a cautious sip of his drink.

"And?"

"And I know it's not something I'm going to find in bars and clubs."

"Not if you're looking for some kind of emotional security blanket, you won't," Ron agreed.  Harry looked at him, and the redhead rolled his eyes.  "This is my job, remember?  I'm a professional dominant; I know a submissive when I see one.  And I know _you_.  It's never been about family for you at all, or you'd have jumped at the chance to nest with Ginny.  What you've really been looking for, as long as I've known you, is a parent and as an adult that shows up as a need for your partner to boss you around.  All the crap with you having to save the world has just made it worse, given you a yen for someone to save _you_ for a change, the same way that my mum throwing her weight around at home makes me want to dominate people."

"Are you telling me I'm looking for a daddy?" Harry said, trying to summon up some outrage but instead only managing a weak grin.

"I've seen weirder things than that, mate, I can tell you," Ron said, grinning back.

"Well, I don't think I'm really looking for an older bloke to pamper me."

"And chastise you," Ron reminded him.  "The whole point of a father figure is the combination of affection, instruction, indulgence and punishment."

"That's … really not what I'm looking for.  Believe me."

"I'm teasing you, prat.  I know you're not looking for a sugar-daddy type."

"Good.  'Cause that'd be creepy, you know."

"I've seen blokes in relationships like that," Ron said mildly.  "Not always as creepy as you'd think – it's more a mentoring thing, I reckon.  Some older blokes like to feel like they're guiding someone's life and some younger blokes like to feel protected.  I don't know why people get creeped out by it, nobody seems to have a problem when it's a bloke and a bird."

They drank their tea in companionable silence for a while.

Finally, Ron said, "So what _do_ you think you're looking for?  You said you didn't go to that club to get tied up, but that's not true, is it?"

"It's true that I didn't go there _intending_ to get tied up," Harry said, a little evasively.

"But you wouldn't mind getting tied up under the right circumstances."

"Maybe."

"There's no 'maybe' about it.  You fancy getting tied up, because you need to feel that someone else is taking charge of your life for you for once, but you need to know that you can call time on the fantasy if it gets a bit much for you.  Nothing unusual in that."

Nothing unusual.  Christ.

"But you haven't actually tried it yet?" Ron continued conversationally.

"No."  Harry had to keep his eyes on his mug.  This was getting very – personal.

"You sure about that?" Ron asked dryly.  "I'll bet you've fantasised about it though, haven't you?  Have you ever tried tying yourself up, just to see what it's like?  Or handcuffed one arm to the bedpost when you wank?"

Harry's eyes flew to Ron's face before he could stop himself.  "You don't – I never – "

"It's perfectly normal to try things like that, you know," Ron said.  "And it's a pretty mild fantasy.  I've heard things you wouldn't believe.  So why don't you tell me about it in a bit more detail?"

And suddenly Harry wanted to escape.  He would have dumped his mug and run there and then if Ron hadn't been between him and the door.

"What are you trying to do to me here?" he demanded, starting to feel trapped and a little panicky.

Ron's eyes were very blue and intense.  "I thought I was trying to help you out – to work out what you're looking for.  Isn't that what we're doing?"

"I thought you didn't want to help me!" Harry snapped.  "I'm a clueless would-be user, isn't that what you said?"

Ron's eyes darkened in anger.  "And I thought we agreed you were going to be more honest with me, not clam up at the first opportunity – "

"Fine!  _Fine!_ "  Oh, this was going to go so wrong but it was too late, Harry was on a roller coaster with no way of braking himself ….  "I fantasise about you.  I've _always_ fantasised about you.  And when I saw you in that place – saw what you were doing – it just became worse.  Because I wanted you to do things like that – talk like that – to me.  Happy now?"

Ron's face seemed to have gone blank; Harry couldn't tell if this was because he had been taken by surprise or if he was furious and covering it extremely well.  Possibly it was both.

"It doesn't matter," he finished, feeling wretched and unable to hide it.  "You've already made it clear how you feel.  But you asked and - "

"Shut up." 

The words were said neither angrily nor especially forcefully, but there was a curious kind of compulsion in them - Harry fell silent, clutching at his empty mug as though it was the only thing between him and a charging dragon.  A long silence fell between them during which Ron's expression never changed.  He finished his tea - calmly, unhurriedly - then stepped away from the door and walked over to the sink to wash his mug out.  His back was to Harry and it looked for all the world as if he was ignoring his presence entirely.

Feeling more wretched than ever, Harry quietly set his own mug on the counter top and turned to go.  There was no point in staying now, not after everything that had been said -

He didn't hear Ron move, but barely had he taken two steps than he was seized from behind and shoved up against the wall next to the door.  His arms were dragged up above his head; Ron muttered a charm that Harry didn't quite catch and a length of light, strong rope wrapped in a velvety material appeared and whipped around his wrists, tethering his hands to a hook above the door that he hadn't noticed. Ron's longer, much stronger body pressed up against his back and his hands stroked up Harry's arms until they were circling his wrists just below the rope binding.  Harry couldn't have moved if he wanted to, and the grip Ron held him in was just barely on the right side of painful.  He could feel warm breath behind his right ear and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.  Ron's breathing was ragged and the proximity was more than close enough for Harry to feel his excitement.

"Scared?" Ron whispered.

"I - I don't know."  And that was the truth.  He didn't think he could ever be afraid of his friend, but this side of Ron's personality was uncharted waters.  The rational side of him knew that Ron would never, _ever_ harm him.  The visceral part of him, that was suddenly making its presence felt via an uncomfortable tightness in his jeans, was thrilled by the unexpected aggression.  "Ron - let me go - "

Ron chuckled and there was a note in it that made Harry's eyes widen.

"You're a wizard, Harry.  _Make me._ "

He couldn't reach his wand.  Ron, of course, knew that.  But Ron also knew that Harry Potter didn't need a wand to fight someone off.  This close he could _kill_ with wandless magic and not even breathe hard at the effort. 

But it didn't occur to Harry to try even a simple tickling hex.  He knew - his _body_ knew - that he didn't want to free himself at all.

After a noticeable pause, Ron chuckled again.  "I guess that answers _that_ , doesn't it?  The only question left is - how obedient are you going to be?"

"I don't - "

"Be silent.  You don't speak, you don't make a _sound_ , unless I say you can."

"But - "

The grip on Harry's wrists became sharply painful.  He shut up at once.  Then he felt Ron push one knee between his legs and rub it slowly, firmly up against the seam of his jeans.  Harry had to bite his bottom lip quite savagely to stop himself crying out at the sensation.

"Good."  Ron's whisper became caressing.  "You'll learn."

A tiny voice of anticipation piped up in Harry's mind and said _God, I hope so_.

 **\- The End -**


End file.
